Naughty or Nice
by NotEnoughTimeOnMyHands
Summary: Snow brings some unexpected warmth and a subsequent frost to the relationship of Red and Liz. Can it work out? Lizzington.
1. Chapter 1

A/N It is just coming into winter in my part of the world. I guess the early frost is getting to me. I have a plan to continue this and wont leave it too long. Kindly review if this is your thing. Looking forward to updates of my fav stories too.

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><p>Winter arrives in a flurry of ice and snow. It catches everyone unawares, not least the meteorologist who had, until the first flakes drifted down, been predicting a relatively mild and uneventful winter.<p>

As the snow falls, as it gathers and deepens Liz makes her way to the rural home Red has, in his wisdom, selected to ride out the inclement weather. Before leaving the house she grabs her emergency box. Be prepared was Sam's motto, not just the Boy Scouts. The habit didn't exactly rub off on her; it was more like it seeped in through osmosis. Without conscious thought she always plans for even the most unlikely scenarios.

The closer she gets to Red the more perilous her journey becomes. She knows the key to success is slow and steady, avoiding tyre spin and any loss of traction but time is against her; if she's to drop the file with him and have any hope of making it back then she'll need to be quick.

She parks and takes only the file with her; despite how quickly she traversed the distance from her car to the front door she still receives a generous dusting of snow. Red opens the door and laughs when he sees her. Liz self consciously combs her fingers through her hair, thrown slightly by his reaction. Standing aside he invites her in to the warm entry way. She turns to address him and finds he's unexpectedly stepped closer, right into her personal space. With an affectionate but slightly incredulous smile he uses his fingertips to brush a stray snowflake from the edge of her eyebrow. His hand lingers long enough for her to feel his heat; coupled with the intimacy of the gesture it stops them both. For a moment their eyes meet, each lost for words.

"Forgive me" Red finally manages as he steps away from her.

Liz gathers herself; she needs to play it like what just happened didn't happen. He laughed at her having snow in her hair, one can only imagine how amused he'd be if she falters in reaction to his contact.

"The file Red" she says offering him the paperwork he simply could not wait for. They'd offered him a digital copy but when he began to wax lyrically about the feel of physical evidence, she knew she'd be quicker hand delivering the papers.

"Come" he says stepping further inside the house. "Lizzie you simply must see the gilded library. I haven't seen anything so ostentatious since my last trip to Europe. If I'm about to be snowbound I feel it ought to be in frivolous splendour".

Liz rolls her eyes, he's in a particularly verbose mood today and she really doesn't have the time or the patience. On he leads and reluctantly she follows. "Red, I really don't have time for this. The driveway was almost impassable on the way in; I've got to make a move".

They enter what is undeniably the most ridiculously decorated room she's ever stepped foot in. Not only is it not in keeping with the rest of the house but it's sickeningly elaborate. She can see immediately why Red is drawn to it. She takes a moment to drink it in, he wants her to see this - to appreciate or to be appalled - who can really tell. Then she places the file on the centre table.

"I have to go" she says as she retraces her footsteps back towards the door. Red doesn't speak but he follows her out. Even when Liz opens the door and is confronted by the bright, stark reality of the heavy snow fall he holds his tongue. She's stuck; she's going to have to stay. But it will be so much easier if she thinks it's her decision.

"Damn it Red" she mutters.

"Really Lizzie. I could rightfully be blamed for a few unfortunate mishaps in your life but unfavourable weather is not one" he says feigning innocence.

It only serves to increase Liz's suspicion. She glances again out of the door. This is as close to white out conditions as she's seen. There is no going back, not now, now tonight. She thinks about leaving and then relents with a shallow nod of her head; even the omnipotent Raymond Reddington is unable to control the weather.

"Excellent" Red says looking all too pleased with himself. "I was about to pour a drink but perhaps you could do with something warming, soup or tea?" He asks as he again ventures into the house.

In the kitchen he moves around with comfortable ease. Liz sits in a chair praying to every divine power that this period of imprisonment is short lived.

"Lizzie, do you have a go bag in your car?" Red asks cheerfully.

"Yes"

"Wonderful. I'll have Dembe bring it in when conditions ease. Not that I have any objection to loaning you something of mine. I imagine one of my dress shirts would hit you mid thigh..."

"RED" Liz stops him before he can elaborate any further but Red just laughs and she finds she can't hold on to her ire for long.

Unsurprisingly Red turns out to be a considerate host. As the day progresses he's attentive without being over bearing. She finds as darkness settles that she wants for nothing. Outside, unnoticed by either of them, the flurries have eased. All the same it is a deep and dense blanket of snow. Predictably it causes some power problems and before long they are suddenly plunged into darkness.

"Red" she says sounding mildly impatient.

"Besides the wonderful library this house has many other notable advantages Lizzie. Not least its backup generator; I'm certain Dembe has already sprung into action."

Liz feels appeased by Red's reassurance and returns her focus to the wine he poured her shortly before the power went out.

Red passes the time adding logs to the open fire, counteracting any loss of warmth from the heating system. They are silent for several minutes until Dembe joins them.

"Raymond" Dembe says as he draws close to Red. Liz can make out the odd word but Dembe is so softly spoken that the short distance and the crackle of the fire disguise his words. Red speaks briefly and then Dembe leaves.

"There seems to be a slight flaw in my plan to restore the power." Red explains while Liz just looks on sceptically.

"The generator is in an outbuilding attached to the house but it can only be accessed from outside. According to Dembe there is a substantial snow drift blocking the door. He's willing to dig it out but I've insisted he wait till morning. I've asked him to retrieve your bag; he's putting it in the master suite. There's a log fire in that room too so you'll be warm enough." Red explains.

They are comfortable enough in the warmth and light of the fire so they sit on until the wine is finished. When she yawns, Red laughs and offers to show her to the bedroom.

The room is luxuriously decorated but compared to the library it's modestly luxuriant. Her bag and box are already there. Red frowns and gives her an inquisitive stare, internally wondering what the box contains.

"For emergencies" she offers before retrieving her bag and making her way to the bathroom. She leaves the door open, the well stoked fire is the only light and she needs to navigate the unknown room.

"Do you have any matches in this emergency weapon cache of yours Lizzie?" Red asks in a mocking tone.

"Yes" she calls for the bathroom ignoring the jibe, "Help yourself". Liz can hear him moving, leaving the room and returning. She can hear him remove things from the box, rifling through its contents. As she moves around she notices a gentle increase in the light level. Red's obviously found the matches and some candles in the house.

She takes her time, using the lukewarm water to wash and remove her makeup, before quickly changing clothes and venturing back out towards Red.

She stops in her tracks when she sees Red, with a highly amused look on his face, holding the box of condoms from her box that she'd forgotten about.

"A little presumptuous aren't we Lizzie?" Red says, clearly intent in enjoying every moment of her discomfort. There is an moment of extended silence while she tries to stare him down. He is unfazed so she tries another tactic.

"That's an economy pack Red; designed for more than one man and one night. If I were you I'd be worried about my stamina" she says hoping to bluff her way out of this embarrassing situation. Red needn't know that the condoms were Tom's not so helpful addition to her emergency box.

For the second time today Red draws very close. He stops when their bodies are barely touching, dipping his head to whisper directly into her ear, "I can assure you that stamina won't be a problem Elizabeth".

The intensity of their earlier connection returns and Liz is instantly breathless again. The smell of him, his dark rich scent, the heat from his body, his warm breath on her skin all combined to create a heady, irresistible mix. She knows in that second that if he was to make a move that she wouldn't deny him. And as if sensing her willingness Red moves his head and captures her lips with his own.

What could have been an innocent kiss, or at least what started as an innocent enough kiss, quickly intensifies. The moment they touch it's like someone lights the touch paper. If they knew what they were doing they'd both run for cover; instead they get swept up in a whirlwind of passion, progressing from kissing to removing each other's clothes quicker than either will remember.

It's Red who regains his senses first. People misconstrue his assertiveness, his brass balls, as bad manners but there are some social conventions he is very particular about. One such 'rule' is only making love to people who are willing, able and with more wherewithal than himself. He fears Lizzie might be lacking in the last category due to their moderate state of inebriation.

Liz senses his hesitation and pulls back, "don't" she prompts as she continues to pull at his tie, battle with his shirt buttons.

"I feel duty bound Lizzie" he responds in a low, distracted tone.

"Don't" Liz says again.

"You might not always think the best of me Lizzie but I'm not some fly by night philanderer." Red says slipping his hand into her hair and using his hold to still her movements. He meets her eyes, there's passion there; she can see it. But there is also honesty and maybe the hint of something else, she can't be certain but it might be doubt.

"Okay" she breathes; this moment between them has all the depth and truth she's always sought from him. He is giving something to her, not physically but emotionally. It means something, more than she knows at that point, more than she will be willing to acknowledge for weeks.

"Not just tonight" he tells her leaning in to kiss her again.

"Yes" she manages before she's swept up by him again. In the candle light, in the dimming light from the burning embers of the fire Red undresses her. He is tender, exploring her body, gently caressing her. Red touches, he tastes, he savours. Liz cannot contain her enjoyment just as he cannot contain his enthusiasm.

It's more than sounds; there are whispered words, promises, vows for the future, for subsequent occasions like this and other moments he tells her they will share. Persuasively he entreats her and she all too willingly agrees. She revels in his attention, why wouldn't she want to experience this again. Why wouldn't she seek him out? Not when he's so considerate. Not when he's so divine. He wants her. He wants to give her everything she wants. And he has the means to do this. He's acquired it through his life, the life that is so contrary to hers; so distinct. The life that she is ordinarily so opposed to. These thoughts are unconscious, until they are not. In the depths of his passion, as Red reveals to her all he has felt since they met, he doesn't feel the first promise as it's broken.

'Just tonight' she thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the reviews, follows and favs. I write these stories for fun and really appreciate the kind words you write. They are the little push that encourage me to continue xxxx

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><p>The morning light is glorious; reflecting on the already thawing snow to create a brightness that is gentle and optimistic. Even before you are fully awake it is the kind of light that leaks in and enhances your already good mood. It reinforces such feelings through the ambient warmth it provides. It's enough to counteract the worst of the lost heat and under a pile of blankets it's difficult to perceive a difference between this morning and any other; except there is a difference.<p>

Red smiles as the memories come to him in waves, her body, her lips, and the delicate taste of her warm skin. As he drifts closer to consciousness he smiles but it slowly begins to fade as his senses begin to return and he knows she's no longer with him. It doesn't completely desert him then. It waits, malingering until he hears only Dembe; until he sees for himself that she is no longer in his bed, in his room or indeed in the house.

Red dresses as Dembe ventures out to restore the heat. He pulls on his suit and prepares himself for the day ahead. Today more than most days it will be his armour, his shield. But it's the kind of protections that keeps things in rather than keeping others out. One might stop to wonder if it's more of a cage than a safe haven but those are the kind of thoughts that he wears the suit against. What has he really lost? What has he got to hide that wasn't already well concealed beneath his bravado and the years of famine he's already endured?

All the same, Raymond Reddington isn't the type of person to run and hide. He is confrontational in the most benign way. But sometimes it's far from benign. He and Dembe leave for the Post Office; the snow has begun to dissipate, almost as quickly as it arrived. When he gets there he plans to address this matter, and if he can manage to contain his raging temper then he might still escape further incarceration.

The look in his eyes as he entered Liz's office is murderous. She'd planned to avoid the topic, sidestep the awkward conversation he would surely want to have. Even as she planned it she knew Red is not the kind of person who simply skips the awkward conversation. Often he seems to revel in it. From his quietness, his restrained, even guarded movements she's now wondering if she'll get out of the room alive. He waits to speak, perhaps purposefully waiting for her apprehension to mount. Liz can't let him best her; not now, not here, maybe never.

"You realise how dangerous your actions were Lizzie?" Red says slowly, quietly. Liz maintains eye contact but she doesn't respond. "Waking up alone, that was quite something; not at all what I expected. Not at all what I was promised." Red waits for her to speak but continues when he realises she won't. "But leaving, in those conditions, that was reckless beyond measure; far beyond what I consider to be tolerable". Liz just stares back; is he really concerned by the event of her leaving or is it more the fact that she left? No doubt he'd be more aggravated if he knew just how treacherous it had been to navigate her way back to more reasonably passable roads. Shame silences her; the shame of panic, of running, of retreating from him. This is amplified by the ghost of his hands on her, the memory of the heat from his mouth, the undeniably satisfying ache in her body, in her limbs from the hours they spent together. All of it is instantly recalled as she sees him in front of her; sees his lips, the very ones that devoured her, hears the words, and the same voice that tenderly adored her.

Then he leaves and Liz is alone. It is utterly silent, suffocating isolating. He is leaving her to her own thoughts; either to draw conclusions or to torture her further. She can't tell and at that moment both feel the same. It's difficult to move, to function or to get on with things. Liz is simultaneously sure she's done the right thing and positive that she's made the worst mistake of her life. She needs someone to talk to, but the only person who she is close enough to share this with, the one who would make it his business whether she wanted him involved or not, just walked out on her in a seething rage and she knows it would be unwise to follow.

After what feels like an eternity Ressler returns and she's forced to make believe once again. She turned her back on the truth last night, she wonders if she'll ever have it again.

The first few times they see each other their relationship feels surprisingly normal. Curiously glances from the team suggest that things aren't quite as they ordinarily are but she thinks it's a damn sight better than she thought it would be.

They are deep into planning for number seventeen. Isla Bennett's number is up as far as Raymond Reddington is concerned. He's been aware of her for years and though they've had occasion to meet socially, she is always very hesitant to divulge. On the surface there are elements of her business that are not dissimilar to Red's, perhaps that's why she's so cautious. But that's not what interests him. It's her ferocious underworld reputation that has drawn him in. How can someone so seemingly innocuous, by comparison at least, be so feared? This one is literally a legend in her own life time. Isla Bennett has a public persona akin to a wealthy, influential socialite but she is so guarded, her business and skills are difficult to pinpoint. That is why Raymond Reddington is so determined to find out what she is hiding.

To the uneducated eye it would appear that Red is facing down his most dangerous adversary just when he feels he has the least to lose. To the educated eye it would tell exactly the same story.

It takes a lot to convince Cooper to pursue Seventeen. Red suggests that the evidence required to convict or at least justifiably hold her will all be gathered during the operation. In the following weeks he hands them a couple of easy marks and tempts them with the idea that Seventeen is something they can sink their teeth into. When Cooper finally agrees they discuss how to infiltrate her network but so much mystery surrounds her organisation, her business, that in the end they all acknowledge the only way forward is for Red to make contact.

The first occasion he sees her they exchange a few pleasantries, as passing acquaintances are inclined to do. Then like a bad penny Red starts to show up more regularly in her life, oozing charm, ingratiating himself in an easy non threatening way. They couldn't have picked anyone more suited to the job, Red is born to it and before long Bennett is won over by his attention.

Watching from the sidelines is difficult for Liz. She feels like the closer he gets to Bennett the further he is from her. When she left him that morning she hadn't foreseen this. She hadn't considered what he meant to her or what losing him might mean. It's painful and bitter and she hides it with everything she has.

The next meeting is a Christmas Eve Benefit Gala both have been invited to attend. Though Bennett has declined to RSVP given her need for privacy, she's indicated to Red that she intends to be there. The deeper they get the more cautious the whole team become. There's no hard evidence but there are enough disappearances and rumours to worry them all. They have agents in every area of the ballroom and microphones and cameras installed around the table Bennett and Red are sure to occupy. They hardly expect her to reveal anything but it seems like a necessary precautionary measure.

Red is waiting at the table, dressed to the nines in his tuxedo when Bennett arrives, "Raymond" she greets him. This is the first time Liz has been present with the surveillance team and hearing the familiarity with which Bennett address Red jolts her. Red stands and greets her warmly, his touch lingering, his lips ghosting over her cheek as he leans in to whisper something. Their movements are intimate and Liz feels like a voyeur. There is something so familiar about his action yet so entirely different. She feels a flush rise to her cheeks. Try as she might she can't detach herself from the events unfolding on the screen in front of her.

Liz is subjected to an evening of what could have been. She sees Red bestow his attention on a more than willing recipient. She tries to read him, to see whether this is genuine or simply all part of the play but she can't tell and because she can't tell she fears the worst. She sits in silence as they talk; laugh together, as they dance. She thinks if the setting had been a little more private that she'd get even more of a show.

Her unfaltering observation means that she's the first to take notice when they return to their table and Bennett initiates a new conversation. She lifts her hand to focus the others and soon they are all captivated as they finally hear something more than banalities from their mark. "Raymond I have some business to attend to that will take me out of town for a short time".

Red reaches for her glass, hands it to her before leaning in close, his arm resting on the chair behind her, "Could I offer assistance; expedite the process?"

Bennett smiles, there is no doubt she's buying this, Liz is buying it, the whole team think both Red and Bennett have it bad, and many of them fear they'd make an invincible vicious criminal duo. "There is no need, the matter is in hand" she tells him, resting her hand on his thigh, "I'm required to visit Davao in the Philippines. I own a private Island off the coast; it has secluded property that I far too rarely make use of. I wondered if we might mix business and pleasure. Christmas is the sun?"

Even from the surveillance van, even through the poor quality FBI issue cameras they can see Red's smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eye. If his expression is anything to go by then in his head he's already there. In Liz's head he's already there too. His naked flesh enjoying the heat from the sun, the warmth of the ocean and the naked flesh of his companion. Liz zones out. Red and Bennett don't hang around much longer but she couldn't offer any details about what happens and who says what, even if she was asked.

At the debrief it is clear how wrong footed they've been. The mission has stepped up a gear and they are far from prepared. They have no international surveillance planned, and as such Dembe will be there only means of staying in contact with Red. They do what they can but when it's clear their efforts are too little too late Cooper dismisses them, telling them to be back at the Blacksite at 7am.

It's midnight when Liz walks in her front door. "Merry Christmas", she says out loud as she steps into the dark empty house. She goes to the kitchen and pours a glass of wine, _'I won't cry'_ she repeats over and over in her head to ward off any other thought. In the grand scheme of her life, the man that she's slept with only once meeting someone new isn't something should lose sleep over. But she knows she will. She stands in the kitchen until her glass is half finished, she tops it up and takes it with her into the living room. She puts on a side light, the soft glow filling the room with the impression of warmth and comfort.

Sitting on the sofa she tries in vain not to think of Bennett and Red. Yet she immediately pictures them, already at the airport, their intimacy now more tactile given that they are soon to be alone. She groans, closes her eyes. When she's silently cursed her life some more she opens them, her eyes alighting on the Christmas tree she's hastily put up the previous week in the hope she might start feeling somewhat festive. It's tastefully decorated she thinks, not over adorned but with a collection of coloured glass ornaments and a luxurious golden ribbon carefully wrapped around. The star on top sparkles, even in the gentle glow from the lamp. The sight of it has been enough to distract her from her woes for a few minutes and she lets out a deep breath as she relaxes.

Liz's eyes continue to travel, taking in the shape of the branches, the angle at which it expands. She surveys the presents she's yet to deliver, the few she's been gifted, neatly tucked under the rim of the tree. Then her attention is taken by a small parcel, one that she's never seen before, one that she did not put there. She places her wine on the side table and stands up; cautiously moving forward before sitting on the floor at the foot of the tree like a child would do on Christmas morning. Liz lifts the parcel from the floor and places it in her lap. Her finger tips nudge the tag until it turns and she reads the Merry Christmas greeting in a familiar hand. _Red_, she thinks.

Inside her is a flicker of hope. In the face of all the evidence to the contrary she wonders if this is a sign that Raymond Reddington still cares.

Liz unwraps the parcel, pausing to take in the details of an intricate jewellery box. She opens the lid and sees a delicate rose gold locket nestled in a plush velvet interior. It's beautiful. She lifts it out of the box to get a closer look. There is a finely detailed pattern around the edges which continues onto the back. Liz is stunned. She can't tear her eyes away from it. Even without opening, there is a secret to this locket, one that Liz has so far failed to see. There is an inscription on the back so small she almost misses it, overlooks it thinking it just makes up part of the overall pattern.

But another careful examination leaves her intrigued and she squints to get a better look, all to no avail. "Damn it, Red" she says out loud as she picks herself off the floor and starts hunting the shelves and cupboards for the old magnifying glass she found among Sam's belongings. Twenty minutes later she's still searching; she's given up twice, stomped to the sofa determined to let his message go unread. Each time she's barely settled when she gets up again to resume her search. When she finally finds it she flicks on the overhead light before sinking back to the floor beside the box and his gift.

Holding her breath Liz lifts the glass and stares at the inscription. It takes her a moment to focus and a moment more to realise that it's not even written in English. It reads, 'i deditionis ad te'. She would roll her eyes if she wasn't already certain that this was important, that he was admitting something to her. Without knowing what the words are this feels pivotal; a sign that he had forgiven her, that he loves her despite her mistake.

Liz starts her computer and because she can think of no better alternative she enters the phrase into Google Translate. Her heart almost stops when the translated words appear, 'I surrender to you' the inscription says when it finally gives up its secret.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, here is the final chapter. Thank you so so much for the feedback. further author note at the end.

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><p>Naughty or Nice. Chapter 3<p>

The phone rings somewhere in the early hours of the morning. The unexpected hour and the darkness render her immobile for a short time. _What's that noise? What day is it? Oh, how many days since Red left_? When she moves it's slowly, the motions and alertness of consciousness slowly returning. She lifts the receiver before she's fully awake, desperate to stop the sound that's piercing her peaceful slumber. She can hear crackling, a distant voice repeating her name, "Lizzie? Lizzie sweetheart..." She knows it's Red but she thinks it's a bad line, thinks that's why his voice is faint, why she's having trouble making him out. Then he coughs and it's loud and startling and she realises there is something wrong, something wrong with him, not the line.

"Red, where are you?" She gets out as panic grips at her throat.

"The Philippines Lizzie, surely you haven't forgotten me so quickly" he tells sounding a little disorientated.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"My hostess and I have had a rather dramatic disagreement about our current living arrangements" he says breathlessly before he begins to cough again. It's his feeble attempt to divert her worry with irritation.

"RED!" she almost shouts down the phone before his coughing subsides. "Where is Dembe?" She says trying to help, trying to think what to do when he's so far away.

"I'm about to call him" Red says sounding distant again, confused.

"You hang up and call him Red" she tells him forcefully.

"I will" he responds. "I wanted to talk to you".

"We will talk, we will. But hang up right now and call Dembe" she instructs.

"Okay" he says, and then the line goes dead.

Liz gets up; she packs a bag and leaves. Less than thirty minutes after the call Liz is airport bound in a taxi. Her mind is abuzz; she worries for Red, thinking of her future with him and without him. They've played games with their safety she realises now, and it might have come back to bite them. She send Ressler a quick text, updating him, she tries not to think about how grim it sounds. Then she texts Dembe, lets him know she's inbound – hours away from being there, hours away from useful but he needs to know.

Liz sprints across the airport and books her flight. In the purgatory of departures she switches off her phone. There has been no response from Dembe, but she didn't expect one. There has been a response from Ressler but only to confirm receipt of the information she sent. To him Red's death would be the end of his hunt, the end of the task force but to her it's momentous. Her plane taxis toward the future that is waiting or the nothingness that wishes to swallow her whole.

Hours later as her flight begins to descend she suddenly thinks that Red will be gone before she gets there. Gone in the 'went in to the light' sort of way or gone in the 'regained consciousness and immediately vacated the area' kind of way, like some bloodied and bruised social butterfly who always has somewhere else to be. Liz remembers after Anslo, remembers the metallic smell of blood and the grisly evidence that he'd been there, that he'd been injured but that he hadn't waited for her, hadn't accepted her help.

She left her house; she fled her life, her job, her existence, for him. Yet she wonders if he'll even have stopped. Can't stay more than two nights in the same location, can't wait two hours when your enemies know you're vulnerable. If she's flown half the world on a fancy of her own she might never fly back. But it's done now. She's here; for better or for worse.

When the flight lands Liz doesn't wait for the announcement. Her phone is on before the tyres stop smoking. Instantly there is a text from Dembe, sent many hours earlier telling her she will be collected from the airport. The only luggage she has was carry on so she moves swiftly, clearing customs, her eyes searching until they alight on a familiar face. Dembe is there and for a moment she wonders if that's a good or a bad signs. She stops, the loss she might have suffered, the feelings she has no ownership of, engulf her. Then she's moving again. Dembe has taken her side, leading her firmly by the elbow, she's no longer frozen, no longer petrified. She's moving, searching, seeking again, and it feels like this will always be her lot.

Before she can gather her thoughts, slap herself out of her melancholy stupor, they are in a car, swiftly headed north. Dembe's voice is gentle despite his obvious anxiety, she has to concentrate on his words but her gut clenches when she takes them in, "you're not too late" he tells her, reaching for her hand and grasping it in both of his. "The danger has passed" he says to alleviate her obvious panic.

Was it that close? Had he really been so reckless? Had they both? She can't think. Maybe it's the jetlag and maybe it's the desperate situation they find themselves in. How many minutes between this reality and his death? How many more before she'd have to get over another separation, another loss? Liz tries not to be so self centred, so selfish. It wouldn't just be her loss. He has a wife; an ex wife, a daughter, friends.

The unfamiliar landscape slips by, unseen, unappreciated. The lush forest, the rich exotic smell, the thick warm atmosphere, all passes by unnoticed. In her life there has never been this rush, this drag of time. Can you want to be somewhere with everything you have, while equally wanting to avoid it?

When the car stops she finds herself again guided, dragged, escorted, though unfamiliar surroundings. It's a blur until it promptly stops outside a room. White walls, white door, white noise in her head. Red isn't dead she reminds herself. Somehow he feels omnipotent, like he couldn't die, like he'd outlive them all. Yet he's here. He hasn't fled, he hasn't escaped her. Things must be bad. With that thought she pushes back the door and enters. Her eyes drift around the room, note the monitors, the fluids, the bed, the patient with the distant, relaxed, unconscious expression.

When she looks upon him in his weakened state she suddenly feels like all the worry, the doubt, the anxiety, which has been visited upon her had been valid. What they have is solidified for her in that moment and Red isn't even awake to see.

Then the silence extends. It extends beyond the briefing Dembe gives her, beyond the calls to Ressler, then Cooper. It extends for days after her arrival and days after Red awakens. Only when they are both ready does it end.

"What happened?" Liz asks.

"Let's just say my host didn't take it too well when I insisted on separate quarters" Red tells her moving his shoulder slightly and frowning deeply at the pain.

"I'm sorry" Liz tells him.

"Why?" he asks gazing at her. Yet the shame she carries, her doubt and fears keep her from saying what she wants. And maybe it's the pain, the uncertainty of anaesthesia, but Red is silent then too.

Days pass, days of waiting, days of watching; days of physiotherapy, and briefings and phone calls and normality before either of them wants to say something again. And it's Liz that finally breaks the unnoticed silence that separated them from each other.

"Latin?" she questions.

"Well I didn't want to make it too easy" he says, a small chuckle escaping before he drifts off to sleep.

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><p>4 years later.<p>

A plush suite awaits the weary travellers as they depart the private jet, escorted as always by Dembe. Privately they laughed at the secrets they kept. The things they hid them from one another; the fulcrum, the hidden agendas, the doubt and fear.

Is that what a near death experience does for you? Strips away your anguish, your bitterness, you guile? Does it strip away your second guessing, your uncertainty? Does it remove your inability to believe that you're loved, that you are the centre of a certain universe? It does those things, and beyond. Then words take over. Words whispered in the dead of night, skin against skin. Words that were spoken before and are now reiterated; words of wanting and reassurance, of desire and love.

In the end what is there? In the end, they are together; always together, never apart. The end is not today, it's not tomorrow. They stop thinking about the moment the future will find them, following the breadcrumbs of fate. They enjoy the present, being together, living for each other, the conventional and unconventional family that they have surrounded themselves with. Every birthday, every anniversary Liz thinks of the gift she would buy him but never does. The redundant words she'd inscribe; _not just tonight, forever_.

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><p>The End.<p>

a/n thank you to everyone who commented, followed and favourited. just a few lines is a huge boost to any FF author. I've appreciate every word xx xx


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